Kinks in the System
by 16woodsequ
Summary: Sherlock now knows about John's wings...but that doesn't make things simple. Winglock AU. Can be read with my story "Past Issues".
1. Chapter 1

_Warning for panic attacks._

* * *

It was about one week after Sherlock's whole perception of his flatmate had been flipped upside down.

By now he was practically accustomed to John's... augmentations, and he found it ridiculous and almost insulting to his deductive skills that John had been able to hide his wings for so long.  
It was also excruciatingly frustrating having a marvel of science _sitting right in his living room_ and being unable to do anything about it.

This was because while Sherlock had taken the new revelations in stride, John was still weary about the subject, holding his wings awkwardly behind him whenever Sherlock was around.

Take today for example, John had come downstairs in an increasingly familiar halter style top, allowing his wings to hang unrestricted, and he had seemed to shrink down on himself upon seeing Sherlock sprawled in his usual chair.

Sherlock let out an inaudible sigh as his flatmate all but fled into the kitchen.  
Sherlock was aware that John was uncomfortable with his wings and needed time to adjust to their new situation, but he wished that things could go back to the way they were before.  
He missed the easy relationship they'd had.

The problem was, he had no idea how to approach John at all.  
And he was not about to incur the wrath of Harry by doing something wrong.

As a result he and John were almost in a stalemate.  
John was uncomfortable, and Sherlock didn't know how to ask what the problem was.

Dragging his hand down his face Sherlock looked to the ceiling for answers.  
Usually John was his interpreter for emotional situations.

Sherlock would have gone on lamenting his loose grasp on social conventions when he suddenly became aware of how silent the flat was.

Instantly he was on high alert.

John was in the kitchen. He was supposed to be making tea. That's what he did _everyday_.  
Yet none of the usual tea-making sounds that Sherlock had come to associate with John in the kitchen were happening.

"John?" He called.  
Nothing.

Sherlock's heart pounded as he stood up from his chair.  
Logically he knew John should be safe, that the man was probably in the loo or had managed to sneak past Sherlock back to his room, but after their recent home invasion Sherlock was a little on edge.

In three quick strides Sherlock made it to the kitchen door, nearly flinging it open in his haste to check on John.

What he found left him totally unprepared.

John's tea lay abandoned on the counter, and the man himself was squeezed into the far corner of the room. His wings hunched around him, covering his head like a shield and Sherlock could now hear his quiet but rapid breathing filling the room.

Sherlock stood frozen in the doorway, his brain stalled by the intense _wrongness_ of the situation.

John gave a particularly ragged gasped and Sherlock gave a start.

 _Panic attack._ His brain supplied, his eyes bouncing around the room trying to figure out what to do.

Harry. He should call Harry, she would know what to do, in fact she had warned him that something like this might happen.

Sherlock was already reaching for his phone before he realised he didn't have the woman's number, not only that but John's phone was likely on his person, meaning Sherlock had no way of reaching the man's sister.

Cursing himself Sherlock glanced around hoping for some inspiration. His eyes landed on the afghan Bill had previously placed on John.  
Perfect. If Bill had done it then it must be helpful in situations like these. Besides, wasn't Lestrade always trying to put shock blankets on him?

Silently cheering Sherlock snatched up the blanket before finally entering the room where John was.  
Replaying Bill's previous visit Sherlock crouched, bringing himself closer to John's height and inched himself over to the cowering figure.

Once he got close enough Sherlock paused. John was essentially a feathery ball, leaving no clear indication as to _where_ Sherlock should drape his offering.  
Hoping for the best Sherlock clumsily spread the blanket over John's hunched form, causing the man to flinch deeper into the corner, his breathing stuttering.  
Belatedly Sherlock remembered the rules Harry had set out.

 _1\. Don't touch John without permission or warning.  
_  
Sherlock had already messed that one up, but he hoped that the blanket would a least help his flatmate once he got used to it.

 _2\. Avoid loud noises._

Glancing around Sherlock was relieved to see that John had yet to put the kettle on, eliminating the possibility that it would shriek in the middle of his efforts to calm his flatmate. Checking to make sure he had no volatile experiments around, Sherlock moved onto the next rule.

 _3\. No cigarettes, alcohol or corpses._

Easy. Sherlock had already vowed not to smoke in the flat and neither he nor John drank much. Scanning the counter tops Sherlock confirmed that there were no body parts laying around either.

 _4\. John likes violin._

Eyes widening, Sherlock was about to half-crawl-half-run out of the kitchen in order to retrieve his instrument when the last two rules presented themselves.

 _5\. Explain what you're doing to John (even if it doesn't seem like he's listening).  
6\. Two taps means safe._

Mentally berating himself for forgetting several important things Sherlock quickly tapped the ground twice.  
"I'll be right back John." He rasped before awkwardly crawling out of the room.

Upon arriving in the living room Sherlock seized his bow and Stradivarius before trying to calmly rush back into the kitchen.

Breathing a bit faster than normal, Sherlock surveyed the situation.  
John was still in the corner, looking like some sort of swamp monster with the way the blanket draped over his whole form, but the man's breathing was less laboured than it had been, so Sherlock counted it as a win.

Crouching again a good distance away from John, Sherlock readied himself.  
"I'm going to play my violin John." He warned, before bringing the instrument up to his shoulder and wearily pulling the bow across the strings, watching John for any signs of distress.

It was hard to tell because of the blanket, but John did seem to relax, so Sherlock kept playing, the music calming his nerves as well.

oOo

Sherlock wasn't sure the exact moment John came out of his panic attack, for all he knew John stayed under the blanket longer than necessary, unwilling to show himself. Regardless, Sherlock played, waiting until his flatmate felt comfortable enough to emerge from under the cover.

Eventually John did emerge, pulling the blanket down and around his shoulders before pushing himself up off the floor, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Sherlock's playing halted then, and he remained awkwardly crouched on the other side of the room, not having thought about what to do once John was himself again.

John broke the silence first, looking slightly to the left of Sherlock's shoulder.  
"I'm going to take a shower." He burst out, his hands twitching on the blanket around his shoulders, wanting to sign but not willing to give up the comforter.

"Right." Sherlock nodded, noting the dampness of John's hair.  
They stared at each other for another moment before John finally edged off in the direction of the loo.

Sighing Sherlock stood up and turned back towards the living room, putting his Stradivarius away and settling in his chair, ready to analyse the afternoon's activities.  
As far as he could tell, John had calmed down through his administrations, and while Sherlock had been rather clumsy with his blanket placement, John had kept it, meaning it had to have been helpful. Right?  
Sherlock's violin seemed to also have been a success in dealing with the panic attack and Sherlock made a note to remember that for the future.

Frowning, Sherlock folded his hands together as he tried to figure out what had triggered John's attack, the man had been making tea as usual, and Sherlock hadn't seen anything potentially triggering in the kitchen...that being said, John might have reacted to something Sherlock had no clue about and therefore could not protect against.

Sherlock heard the shower stop and absentmindedly noted the time in his mind palace. John had spent longer than usual under the water, likely a side-effect of today's events.

John's shuffled footsteps stopped in the kitchen and Sherlock heard the sounds of running water and rattling cups.

 _I can surmise that tea was not the trigger._ Sherlock mused, doubting that John would be up to the task if it had just recently set him off.

The kettle shrieked and John came soon after into the living room, a cup in each hand, the blanket threatening to fall from where it was loosely hung around his shoulders.

Upon handing Sherlock a cup, John quickly pulled the cover tighter around his shoulders before disregarding his customary chair and making his way over to the couch.  
Sherlock was confused at the abnormal behavior but sipped his tea anyways, grateful for something to do.

"I'm sorry." John murmured out of the blue, his dominant hand in a fist, circling in front of his chest.

 _This is apology tea._ Sherlock thought absentmindedly while he tried to figure out how to respond.

"You don't have to apologize John." He said finally.

John pressed his lips together and clutched his teacup with both hands, silently disagreeing.

Sherlock clenched his teeth and his brows pulled together. "I'm serious John." He insisted. "You have nothing to apologize for. Your reaction was perfectly normal."  
Granted Sherlock didn't know what John had reacted _to_ , but considering his history Sherlock assumed his reaction was typical.

John scowled slightly in frustration as he had to set down his tea in order to sign what he wanted to next, but Sherlock didn't comment. Harry had informed him that John was likely to become embarrassed and stop communicating at all if he was pressured about his signing habits.  
As a result, Sherlock simply had to be willing to wait until John was comfortable enough to speak without signing.

Both hands free John sat back. "I didn't want to bother you." He explained, cupping his left hand and tapping it against the top of his right.

"You didn't bother me." Sherlock insisted, privately hoping that John didn't realise how out of his element he'd been. "I don't mind."

John's hands fluttered indecisively. "I... don't want to make you uncomfortable." He explained reluctantly.

Sherlock's teacup paused midway to his lips as his brain stalled. This whole time he'd been worried about making John uncomfortable when in reality they were _both_ making each other uncomfortable and then tiptoeing around the subject.

"I'm not uncomfortable because of you John." Sherlock tried to explain, setting his cup down. "I just... don't want to do anything wrong."

John looked dumbfounded. "You don't... Sherlock you've kept heads in our fridge." He sputtered, his dominant hand pulling back as if opening a door.

Sherlock winced, remembering how John had reacted to that little experiment. "Right, sorry about that."

John shook his head. "No... I'm mean yes, but..." his hands lagged indecisively. "I don't want you to be walking on eggshells around me." He finished, his hand pointing to his chest.  
"I mean, it's good that you're being considerate!" John hastily added, his finger pointing to his head. "But... I think it would help if we could work at living like before."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "...what if I trigger you or something?" He questioned, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"We'll work on that." John insisted, his hands flying. "Just try to warn me before you do anything crazy, like shoot the wall."  
Slowing down John looked reluctant and sheepish at the same time. "And I'll... I'll let you know if something is bad for me."

"Deal." Sherlock agreed, feeling relieved. He knew he and John still had a lot that they had to talk about, but they had at least started.

* * *

 **AN:**

The first of three chapters where John and Sherlock heal and learn form their experience.


	2. Chapter 2

It was two weeks later and life at Baker Street had begun to return to normal, well to a degree. Sherlock had yet to take on any new cases that involved leaving the flat.

But, he was proud of the fact that he'd notice John's reluctance when it come to leaving.  
He'd first noticed it when John had been getting ready to do the shopping. They'd already gone a week longer than usual and were in desperate need of edible food.

Every since John had moved in he had taken it upon himself to do the shopping, (despite his frequent disputes with pin machines, something which Sherlock understood now that he realised John probably had little experience with them.)

It had been just like any other shopping day, John had come down dressed in his usual attire, his brace in place, keeping his wings strapped down. He even had the list of all the things they needed, but couldn't seem to be able to get himself together enough to leave.

He left his keys in his room and then proceeded to forget the shopping list up there upon retrieving them. He was agitated and had spent a good ten minutes rechecking his shopping list in the kitchen before Sherlock realised what was going on.

He had been watching his flatmate's stalling tactics, thoroughly bemused, from the living room, when it had dawned on him that John had yet to venture outside alone since the recent attack. Upon his realisation, Sherlock had immediately gotten up from the couch and headed to his room to change.

"I need to get something for an experiment." He'd reasoned upon returning, holding out John's coat.

The shopping trip hadn't been nearly as tedious as Sherlock had thought it would be.  
In fact, he had enjoyed himself, holding the shopping basket so John's hands were free to sign, and entertaining himself by making sarcastic comments about the ingredient lists of various foods.  
He had felt a rush of proud satisfaction when John let out a booming laugh at one of his comments, heedless of the disapproving onlookers.

All in all, John seemed to have been more comfortable with Sherlock around, and the trip was counted as a success.

Now though, Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. He knew that John had said that he wanted to live like they had before... but he _also_ knew that Harry would have his head if he moved too quickly.  
He did want to eventually be able to take cases again though...

Suddenly he had a brilliant idea.

oOo

Sherlock got into the cab and smiled proudly to himself as John did the same.

Solving cold cases at the police station wasn't as exhilarating as fresh mysteries, but the station should be a relatively 'safe place' for John, meaning he would be comfortable leaving their flat to go there. Plus cold cases were less likely to trigger any unpleasant memories.  
Lestrade had been bugging him for a while about them anyways, and Sherlock had already warned him not to mention John's signing.

All things considered, it was the perfect first step for John.

At least he hoped so.

It appeared to be going well. John seemed to be willing, even excited to visit Lestrade and they made it to Lestrade's department without issue.

Donovan met them and led them towards Lestrade's office, her typical look of irritation plastered on her face.

"Freak's here." She remarked casually to Lestrade.

And that's when it went downhill.

Sherlock barely noticed the insult, but he felt John tense beside him and his brain raced to find the problem.

 _You're NOT normal you little freak!  
_  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He'd gotten used to Donovan's ribbing over the years and had simply accepted it as an inevitable result of his genius. But this was about _John_ now. She was hurting John and that was unacceptable.

Seething Sherlock plotted as he followed Lestrade down the hall to where the cold cases were filed.

"Can I speak with you in private?" He ground out once they'd arrived.  
Lestrade looked confused but nodded. "My office is free." He said, gesturing to the door.

Nodding stiffly, Sherlock made sure John was okay where he was, before marching straight back to Lestrade's office, closing the door rather firmly once Lestrade had caught up.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned wearily, moving behind his desk.

"You need to have better control over your officers Lestrade." Sherlock hissed, not wanting to be heard through the thin walls. "Specifically Donovan." Sherlock glared, his fists clenching.

"What did she do?" Lestrade asked, sitting down.

Sherlock scoffed. "What she always does." Folding his arms he glowered at Lestrade. "And I'm tired of working in an environment where I'm constantly demeaned. I don't care if she's calling me out on my behavior, but it's completely unprofessional the way she treats me."

Pursing his lips, Lestrade thought briefly before nodding. "You're right Sherlock. I'll talk to her. I'll let her know she'll be written up for improper behavior if she does it again."  
Looking tired Lestrade sighed before continuing. "I can't say she's going to be friendly around you though Sherlock, you guys butt head too often."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm aware, but that's no reason for me to be verbally abused."

Lestrade winced and nodded in agreement. "Let me know if she keeps at it."

"I will." Sherlock assured, turning towards the door before pausing as a thought struck him.

"By the way," he warned. "If Donovan, or anyone else on your crew for that matter, _ever_ speak that way to John, I won't be answering your phone calls for a solid week afterwards."  
With that Sherlock left the room, smirking as he heard Donovan getting paged to Lestrade's office.

Now in a much better mood Sherlock breezed into the cold cases room, noticing that John had already pulled open a file left for them and had spread the various papers and evidence on the table in the middle of the room.

"It's a locked room murder." He explained, waving Sherlock over, his eyes scanning the document. "Ten years old too."

Sherlock smiled, making his way to the table. It seemed like today's outing would be a success after all.

* * *

AN:

I love stories where John stands up to Donovan for Sherlock, but I haven't read many where Sherlock does it himself. I think it's a good character development.


	3. Chapter 3

It was now officially two months after Sherlock had first learned about John's wings and things were going fairly well.

Sherlock had begun to take on more cases, and while at first he had avoided the ones likely to end in dramatic chases, he and John were now taking on the majority of the cases that they normally would.

Even Donovan was better, preferring to glare at Sherlock from a distance.

Unfortunately, the influxes of cases lead to a side effect Sherlock hadn't foreseen.

He discovered it when he and John were returning from a grueling three day case that had barely let them sit down for three seconds tied together.

It was night when they'd returned and he and John both sighed with relief upon entering the flat. Flicking on the lights, John shrugged off his coat, wincing slightly before heading to the loo.  
Sherlock groaned as he collapsed onto the couch in the living room, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

"You can't sleep here Sherlock."  
Jerking with surprise Sherlock opened his eyes to see John standing over him.  
"You'll sleep better in your bed." John insisted, his hand reaching forward to help Sherlock off the couch.

Sherlock huffed out a whine, but accepted the proffered hand, he knew from experience that John wouldn't let up until he got what he wanted.

Rolling his eyes affectionately, John made to pull Sherlock off the couch, but winced at the strain, his face twitching slightly.

Instantly Sherlock was upright and alert.  
"John? Are you alright, were you hurt?" He asked, scanning his flatmate and running the night's events back through his brain. When had he gotten hurt?

"Sherlock no. I'm fine." John protested, dropping Sherlock's hand and stepping away.  
"You are not." Sherlock countered giving John an I'm-not-going-to-let-this-go look. "What's wrong?"

John sighed exasperated. "It's just my shoulder Sher-" His well-rehearsed explanation cut off and he froze as Sherlock's eyes widened, previous cases flashing before the consulting detective's eyes.

This wasn't their first long case, and now that Sherlock thought about it, John had often finished cases like these looking uncomfortable, claiming his shoulder wound was acting up.  
Except, John didn't _have_ a shoulder wound, that was something Sherlock had come up with by himself, and John had gone along with it because instead of a shoulder wound he had...

"It's your wings isn't it?" Sherlock realised. "What happened to them?"

"Nothing!" John protested, raising his hands as if to placate his concerned flatmate. "They're just a little sore."

Sore. Of course they were sore, they probably hadn't been let out for the whole length of the case. "It's because you wore your brace for so long isn't it?" Sherlock questioned, his hands twitching, wanting to check his friend over but holding back. "Are they okay?"

John hesitated, visibly upset, before dropping his hands in defeat. "I...there's a sore I can't reach." He admitted grudgingly. "I have cream that helps but..."

Sherlock perked up. "Can I- I could..." He faltered, he wanted help his friend, especially since it was partly his fault John had kept his brace on for so long, but his didn't want to accidentally overstep some sort of taboo. "I could, help you reach." He finished awkwardly.

John looked conflicted and they sat in silence for a few moments. Sherlock ran his hands along his trousers in a nervous gesture, fighting to remain patient.  
"Okay." John finally agreed. "I'll... just go get it."  
John left for the loo again, not quite fleeing, but close.

Right. Okay. This was fine.

Sherlock remained on the couch until John returned, his jumper and shirt removed and holding a round white container.

"Here." John held out the container and Sherlock took it with a curious look. It was an antibiotic ointment.

John stepped away and nervously undid the three straps of his brace before easing it off and setting it on the coffee table. Unfolding his wings, he turned around and Sherlock winced at the disheveled look of his plumage.

"It's near the junction of the left one." John explained, looking straight ahead, his arms firmly by his side.

Standing up Sherlock moved around the coffee table and unscrewed the lid of John's ointment.  
A quick glance revealed a small red mark near where the wing fused into John's back, mostly likely due to friction and pressure. Dipping his finger into the container, Sherlock scooped up a good amount of the mixture and moved to apply it.  
John twitched on contact and his wings fluttered but he didn't say anything.

Meanwhile Sherlock was having a harder time than he expected. The angle was awkward and he ended up having to lean in quite close.

John's wings were still and Sherlock found himself focused on them.

 _Honestly it's amazing John can even hide them under his brace... although their size helps with that._ Sherlock thought, wondering why they were so small in the first place. Folded, they barely hung past John's waist.  
 _He couldn't possibly fly with them._ Sherlock reasoned. _They're too small. The most he could use them for would be extra lift and and maybe gliding._

John's wings dipped and Sherlock snapped back to himself, pulling away quickly. How long had he been analyzing John's wings? Berating himself, Sherlock screwed the lid back onto John's ointment and looked around for something to wipe his hands on.

"It's okay."

Startled Sherlock looked back at John who had yet to move. His wings still hanging open.

"It's fine." John said again, still standing at attention but giving Sherlock an awkward thumbs up. "You can look, I'm sure you're curious."

Setting the jar down, Sherlock forgot about his oily fingers, immediately transfixed by the puzzle of John's wings in front of him.

 _How does the bone structure fit? What kind of muscle did he grow because of it?_ Theories flew andSherlock was about to reach forward to feel around the humerus of John's wings when something clicked and he froze.  
Something was wrong.

Sherlock ran back through his memories. _John said it was fine. What's wrong? He said it was-_ Since when did John give thumbs up?  
 _He didn't you idiot, that's the sign for 'fine' in sign language._

Except, John had been signing less and less. He barely signed at all so why...

 _He'll stop signing once he's more comfortable._

Which meant that John was _un_ comfortable if he was falling back to signing, however briefly. Uncomfortable because Sherlock was going to examine him.  
Sherlock dropped his hands.

Why did he say it was okay?

 _You can look, I'm sure you're curious._

He thought Sherlock wanted to look at his wings, so he let him. Sherlock remained frozen as he thought, his eyes drifted over the various scars his friend sported.

 _Don't hit his wings! Don't hit his wings!_

 _They would come and measure him... run tests or whatever._

 _...not because they cared about John... they were upset about all the wasted resources._

...exactly how long had John spent being told his only worth came from his wings?

 _I'm sure you're curious._

He was. He really was. But not like this. Not when John didn't want it, not really.  
Not when he thought he had to do it.

Swallowing, Sherlock stepped back. "I'm good." He croaked out. "We should get some sleep. It's late."

John turned, looking confused and Sherlock snatched up the ointment, offering it to him.  
"Let me know if you wing still bothers you." He managed.

John nodded, clutching the ointment to his chest and watched silently as Sherlock picked his way across the living room.

"Sherlock?" He asked, stopping the taller man in his tracks.  
John looked lost "Why? I don't..."

Turning back to the living room Sherlock tugged on his suit jacket, his fingers smearing on the hem, he wasn't sure how to explain himself without embarrassing his flatmate, he just hoped that John didn't think that he was disgusted with his wings.  
"John," he tried. "I think your wings are... fascinating," Sherlock paused, glancing at the now folded appendages. "...but they're not the most important thing."

An unidentifiable emotion flickered across John's face, but he didn't look sad and he didn't look angry, making Sherlock feel more confident.  
"I do think you health is important though." He pressed on. "So next time you need a break during a case... well we should probably be taking one anyways."

John looked surprised before he gave Sherlock a soft smile. "Okay." He agreed.

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction, internally deciding to put an alarm on his phone for every 8 hours. Just in case.  
Glancing at the clock Sherlock winced at the time. "We should sleep."

"That's rich coming from you." John teased, grabbing his brace and heading for the stairs before pausing briefly in the doorway. "See you tomorrow."

Sherlock smiled lightly. "See you tomorrow." He replied before making his way down the hall.

Alone in his room, Sherlock stretched out on his bed, not bothering to undress. Above him, he could hear John's footsteps as his flatmate prepared to turn in for the night.  
Turning over Sherlock allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction with the night's events.

He knew he was still out of his depths at times, and he was sure that John still had things he needed to work through... but he felt that despite everything, he and John could and would continue to work through those difficulties.

After all, he would be lost without his blogger.

* * *

AN: I did it!

Of course I am nowhere near done with this universe! So let me know if there's anything you want to see or if you have any questions.

Thank you!

(Sorry if you got any confusing notifications, I had some trouble uploading this chapter)


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